You're Just An Old Beecharmer, Quinnie Threadgoode
by counterpunch
Summary: AU: Fried Green Tomatoes. She grips Rachel's hand tighter.   "Tell me a story," she mumbles. "I love your stories, tell me a story. A good tall tale. Tell me the one about the lake."
1. Just an old beecharmer

Quinn hates the sun.

Because when it sets today, hers will never rise again.

After Buddy, Quinn didn't think she'd ever again feel this kind of pain. That had been sudden. Torn away from her violently. But this? This was an entirely different kind of violence. This time, she's had to watch slowly as her world crumbles around her.

Cancer was prying Quinn's fingers loose from her grip on Rachel. Pulling her right through Quinn's hands. Like trying to cup water in her palms.

Stump was outside, playing baseball with Big George. They wanted to keep him busy. Idle hands make idle minds…

Quinn half-wishes she were out there with him. But there's nowhere else she'd rather be. No where else she _could _be. She's earned her place at this bedside. Rachel coughs and Quinn jerks.

She remembers when it was the other way around. For those first few weeks after Rachel'd come back with her, Big George and her brothers, she was like a skittish bird.

One day Rachel dropped a plate setting the table and begged forgiveness from Momma with such fear in her eyes that Quinn had to excuse herself before vomiting in the garden. Another time, Julian was cutting wood in the backyard and every _crack_ of the axe had Rachel flinching.

If Quinn could have killed Frank herself, she would have made it slow. Made him _feel _it; everything he did to her.

She's suffered enough to last two lifetimes. Quinn hates God for putting her on this bed.

She grips Rachel's hand tighter.

"Tell me a story," she mumbles. "I love your stories, tell me a story. A good tall tale. Tell me the one about the lake."

Quinn snorts through the lump in her chest.

Rachel's eyes are clear. Bright and shining. Her mouth is dry and caked around the edges of her lips, and her skin sunk so low it's sallow.

Quinn's heart is crumbling right alongside Rachel's body.

"That was just a lie." She's angry. So angry. She wants to give into the fury, let it consume her like the cancer that's swallowed Rachel whole.

Rachel cracks a weak grin, "I know that, fool. Tell me anyway. Tell me the story."

Who is she to deny Rachel anything? She never did before, why should she start now.

When they were young and foolishly in love, that meant the freshest berries, picked from the far side of the river. It meant wearing a coat of bees for the freshest honey, still warm and dripping from the hive. Later on, it meant patience. It meant waiting; until Rachel was ready to return and until Quinn was ready to leave the woods. In adulthood it meant compromise; giving and taking to fit two lives together.

Now it's like being split down the middle.

She swallows thickly. "One time, there was this lake. It was right outside of town, and we used to go fishing and swimming and canoeing in it."

Tears are pooling in her eyes.

"And see, one November, this big flock of ducks landed on that lake. Then the temperature dropped so fast that the lake just froze then and there. And the ducks, they flew off you see, and they took that lake with 'em."

Everything is blurry.

"Now they say that lake is somewhere over in Georgia."

She wipes her nose across her sleeve, snot running across her hand. "Imagine that."

Rachel smiles and closes her eyes. "You're just an old bee charmer Quinnie Threadgoode, that's what you are…"


	2. voice of an angel

People said Rachel had the voice of an angel.

But angels don't sing anymore. Not in Whistle Stop since she left, and certainly not in Valdosta. Frank whisked her back to Georgia faster than cotton grows in the summertime.

It was lucky, they said, if you caught an angel singing unawares. Sometimes, Dot Weems said she'd catch Rachel singing on her way to and from the post office. She'd send letters off with a smile and exit with a tune under her breath. Julian loved lingering with his morning coffee, but mostly because he'd get to hear Rachel singing in the kitchen or outside in the garden and it'd start his day off with a smile and a full heart.

But Quinn, darling Quinnie was the luckiest of them all. She'd hear her in the bathroom in the morning, wrapped in a cocoon of sheets under the cover of darkness, walking through the woods, lying under the stars, and perhaps most beautifully of all, when Rachel didn't even know. Quinn must have spent hours leaning in the doorway, pretending to still be asleep, or standing just around the corner out of sight simply listening. When Rachel thought she was alone, singing for herself, it was like sweet honey.

But angels don't sing anymore.

When she sang at church, it was the sound of beams of light shining onto the earthy realm to help the downtrodden and sinful find their way back into His grace. After all, it got Quinnie to sit through a service. If Rachel's voice could get the littlest Threadgoode to church, then by George, they said, it could save people.

But angels don't get saved when they're busy being lost.

She missed evenings sitting by the fire or reading out loud to Quinn in the meadow during a lazy April afternoon. She was aimless, without purpose. Rachel was made to love Quinn. Alone in the big house in Valdosta felt a lot like living in an echo; never having a solid presence, always caught up in a space between distances.

What people didn't know is that angels don't sing when they're too busy crying.

The first time he hit her, she thought it was her fault. Thought that maybe Frank could feel the love she had inside for Quinn. It had slipped out somehow, in her voice, her touch; she didn't know how, but she believed he must have known and that's why he despised her.

But the more it happened, she'd see the slick glint of satisfaction in his eyes and she knew - sure as she loved Quinn - that he wasn't a man at all.

Rachel didn't have to wonder why for long, though. He stumbled into her bedroom late one night not too long after they were married, heavy and stinking of whiskey. She'd been asleep and awoke from one nightmare to find herself stuck in another. Fumbling with the zipper, he was mumbling about what he'd done out drinking, and through a particularly nasty backhand, she managed to catch a few key phrases.

_Klan. Troupville. Faggots. _

The moment he entered her roughly, she cried out as the pieces fell together in her mind.

There is no higher power on earth or Heaven than love, is what her fathers taught her. Hillel taught the entire Torah while standing on one foot, "_what is hateful to you, do not do unto others." _

_Above all, _Jesus taught, _love each other deeply_.Rachel knew it wasn't a sin.

_There is no fear in love. _Rachel wasn't afraid. But her fathers were, and that's why they stayed secluded in Troupville. Two men together raised questions. But one black and one Jew raised torches.

She cried sometimes, but only for them. _But perfect love drives out fear. _They were without fear now. Perfect love carried her strong. It fixed her bones and healed her bruises. Even as he used her body, she was off swimming in a stream with Quinnie.

Angels don't sing when they're too busy praying.

_Place me like a seal over your heart, for love is as strong as death. It burns like a blazing fire, like a mighty flame. _

She had no intention of dying. So when she missed her period for the second month, she knew it was time. Rachel's turn to be Ruth and return to her people.

It was time for angels to sing again.


	3. Rachel's Birthday

All in all, Quinn thought as she put her arms on her hips and surveyed the scene, it was a successful evening.

Quinn wasn't known for being an overthinker. Lord knows she'd gotten in more trouble than half the boys in town, proving how quickly she reacted and how little she thought.

So it was with no small amount of effort that Quinn went about planning Rachel's birthday.

It was all she'd been talking about for weeks. During one brainstorming session late one night in the Cafe, Grady, in the middle of trying to enjoy a slice of blackberry pie, dropped his fork on the plate and said, "Quinn, I swear on Eda Mae's lace doilies, if you don't stop talking about this birthday thing, I'm gonna go right down to the Wagon Wheel and drown myself in the river, y'hear?"

Quinn, sitting on top of the bar counter, stood up suddenly and nearly cracked her skull on the ceiling fan.

"Dammit, Innie," Grady yelled as he jumped to his feet and grabbed her off the counter, "You're going to get yourself killed, you idiot."

She turned to grab either side of his arms and looked up at him wide-eyed and excited, "Grady, that's brilliant. The Wagon Wheel."

Then, to his everlasting shock, she kissed him straight on the lips and ran out the back door. Wiping his mouth he hollered at her, "So I guess I'll tell Rach to close up shop, then?"

When no one replied, he turned back, eyeing the counter and muttered, "While I'm at it, I'll help myself to another slice of pie…"

Rachel was a surprisingly good poker player, though if she beat Grady through skill or because he let her win, she'd have to ask later.

Yes, the night was definitely a success (if Rachel's level of inebriation were anything to judge by). She'd sure as shit been sober earlier though, when Quinn was waiting outside by the car in a suit and announced they' be going to a show in Birmingham. With a squeal and a kiss on the cheek, Rachel hopped into the car. Quinn blushed and grinned wildly, wondering how it was that Rachel can make her feel 16 all over again.

Quinn blushes now, thinking of what they did afterward in the theatre bathroom. The beer is cold in her hand and she takes a deep swig before rejoining the party.

Small lanterns flicker on the ground and give off just enough light to make out the bases in the dirt. Grady hollers at Rachel to put her drink down and get ready.

"A lady always takes her time," Rachel says drunkenly and picks up the bat daintily from where it leans against the bench. She's barely standing, but Quinn'll be damned if she doesn't hit anything tonight.

"Hey, Grady," she hollers, "be sure to roll her an easy one."

He laughs, big, from the belly, and tips his hat. "Only for you, Ms. Rachel. See if you can get this one here to let me win a round or two of poker next time," he finishes, nodding over at Quinn.

"Don't you dare go easy on me, Grady Kilgore!" she slurs back. "I ain't no delicate flower."

He tosses the ball (a light underhand seems like a fair compromise), there's a sharp_ crack_ and Rachel stands there completely stunned.

"Run, Rachel!" Grady yells as everyone whoops and hollers. The noise seems to jolt her, and after a moment Rachel screams, flails her arms in the air and gallops round the bases. Twice, just for good measure.

Quinn cheers along, clapping her hands, laughing so hard her face hurts.

Later, when Rachel and Quinn are at the watering hole- their watering hole, it's quiet, and the buzzing in their bodies matches that of the lazy insects. A half-empty bottle of whiskey and a deck of cards sit on the shore near their clothes, but it all seems much farther away.

it's just them, and the water.

They spin together slowly, turning round and around, inhabiting the same tiny space. They switch between who's holding who, because together they're a pair of spoons and that's all that matters.

Rachel's hair is wet, but dry on top and frizzy strands glow like a halo in the moonlight. Quinn reaches to tuck in a loose lock and lets her hand linger against the shell of Rachel's ear. It hurts, suddenly. "You're so beautiful, do you know that? Do you know how beautiful you are to me?"

Rachel ducks her head and blushes, "When you say things like that, I do."

"Do you really? Because sometimes I think I love you so much I might die. Like my chest could explode right here and now."

Quinn takes Rachel's hand and places it flat on her chest, above her heart. "Do you feel that? It's beating faster than a hummingbird. Louder than the bees."

How they lived without each other for those two long years is beyond her. Thinking of it now is like squeezing a bruise.

"I'm just so goddamn _grateful_ for you," she whispers into Rachel's fingers. "I could never love you enough."

"Do you remember," Rachel chokes through her happiness, "what I said to you that night, when we first kissed?"

Quinn nods and Rachel kisses her. "Don't you forget it, Innie Threadgoode. I love you faster than a hummingbird and louder than the bees. This is the best birthday I ever had. Now shut up and love me good."

Quinn smiles and does just that. 


	4. the many lives of Quinnie Threadgoode

_Quinnie Threadgoode was 8 when the world changed. _

She'd been hunting in the woods when sounds of the church choir filtered through the trees. Tossing the quails over her shoulder, she crept through the underbrush transfixed.

Quinn stood on her tiptoes, just tall enough to peek through the window in the back of the church.

She sounded like an angel.

An angel with brown hair, wearing a blue dress, standing in the third row of the choir with eyes pinched shut, singing as if Jesus Himself were coming down in a chariot from Heaven.

Quinn swore her toes tingled, and it had nothing to do with how long she stood outside that window.

She watched in awe as the girl finished singing and walked off the platform, but not before catching Quinn's eye in the window. She smiled and gave a little wave. Quinn blushed up to her ears and that's when she ran.

She completely forgot about the quail.

* * *

><p><em>Quinn was 11 when her heart stopped. <em>

The train whistle mocked the scream that tore out of her throat- the one she screamed for Buddy. For six years she refused to go near the train tracks. Then one day she decided she was tired of being afraid and jumped on the nearest empty car. It was that night during that train ride that Railroad Bill was born.

Trains in the past stole life from Quinn. Ripped Buddy from between the tracks. Now, they gave life. Gaunt faces of the hungry and homeless whipped past her on the train and to Innie, the crates of food stacked in the corner could serve a much greater purpose. After she empties a shipment of cans to hobo camps all over Alabama, she'd chalk one up to Buddy.

It was easier than she thought, keeping a secret like that. When she heard kids talking excitedly over Railroad Bill's latest heist, Quinn have to bite her lip and leave the room to keep from grinning.

The feeling never got old.

* * *

><p><em>When Quinn was 15 her heart starts beating again. <em>

Nights in the summertime seemed to last forever.

Dusk would creep in slowly, and the fireflies would beckon a certain kind of magic.

August that year was particularly sticky. The humidity drenched everything in a heavy heat and so it was that one night, Rachel and Quinn snuck off after dark to the watering hole about a mile from the river. Outergarments were abandoned quickly and the weight of the water was a welcome relief from that of the air.

"Don't you dare," Quinn says, a few moments later.

Rachel's arm is poised, cocked and aimed. "Or you'll do what?" she retorts with a smirk before twisting her torso to splash Quinn with a wall of water.

Drenched, Quinn screams and tackles her into the water. "I told you not to! Now you've done it."

Eyes opened in mock fear, Rachel begs, "No, Quinn. Please don't. I didn't mean it, honest."

There's an evil glint in Quinn's eyes before she dives and reappears behind Rachel and grabs her body. She screams as Quinn starts tickling her mercilessly.

Their squeals echoed through the trees as they played in the water. Rachel squirms and twists, trying to escape but to no avail. She twists and the mood changes suddenly. They've ended up in quite the compromising position. Their faces so close together that their breath is mingling. Quinn's arms are locked around Rachel's back, which shakes as their laughter slowly dies down from chuckles to hitched breaths. Rachel is looking up into Quinn's eyes that stare back with such intensity. Despite the heat, Rachel shivers.

A pregnant silence fills the air before Quinn blinks and pulls away. And just like that, the moment is broken. She swims over to the rope swing that dangles lazily from a tree. Quinn climbs up, does a running jump and splashes in the water.

She swims back over to where Rachel, looking off into the distance, hasn't yet moved.

Quinn wipes the water from her face with both hands. They'd been to this watering hole dozens of times, and never once had Rachel come close to touching the rope swing. "You'll never jump, will you," she says.

Rachel looks back with a look Quinn can't place. It's angry for a moment, but softens into confusion and then settles into a gentle determination. It looks as if she's searching for something, and Quinn is holding her breath and it feels like forever.

"Don't say never to me," Rachel finally says before pushing herself forward and kisses Quinn right on the mouth.

There was a frozen moment when the entire world stopped before Quinn remembered she was still living on Earth- an Earth where Rachel was kissing her. When the sensations sunk in, Quinn let out a whoop and wrapped Rachel in her arms, spinning them around and around until they were dizzy. But with love or with motion, neither were sure.

It was all beginning.


End file.
